


looking for heaven (found the devil in me)

by blackkat



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [73]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, brief angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: It probably says a lot about Obito's life that his first thought when the armed maniac grabs him isoh god damn it, not again.





	looking for heaven (found the devil in me)

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on my Tumblr: Hero!AU where Obito is a long suffering journalist that, no matter how hard he tries, ends up as the damsel in distress and Kisame is the smitten hero who always saves him. Kakashi is the "helpful" friend who always suggests that Obito thank his hero with dinner?

It probably says a lot about Obito's life that his first thought when the armed maniac grabs him is _oh god damn it, not_ again.

 _I'm not even working on a story this time,_ he shrieks internally at whatever god has it out for intrepid journalists. _I was just trying to deposit my check so I can buy groceries!_

There's no answer from diabolical cosmic forces, of course. Instead, the man with the gun shoves it into the side of Obito's head, making him flinch, and snarls at the teller, “Get the vault open!”

“I—I _can't_ ,” she says, looking like she’s about to start crying as she stares at Obito in horror. “The manager is the only one with the codes, and he just went to lunch.”

Obito rolls his eye, because that’s some of the worst fucking planning he’s ever encountered in a bank job, and if he needed more proof that he’s dealing with a two-bit crew, that’s it.

There's a moment of silence, and then the man make a sound of fury. “Empty the tills,” he snaps, and the girl jerks back with a sound of terror. “Empty them!”

“Nice work, asshole,” Obito tells him, because he physically _cannot resist_ any longer. “There's probably, what, two thousand in the tills? If even that. Congrats on your haul. Really inspiring.”

“Shut up!” the man snarls, jamming the gun harder against Obito's temple. “You’d better hope that us getting out of here goes more smoothly, or I'm going to fill you with so many holes people can see daylight through you.”

It is not, sadly, the most impressive threat Obito's heard this week. It’s definitely not the most impressive threat he’s heard this month. He huffs, leaning away from the barrel as much as he can. “Right, because clearly it’s the hostage’s fault that you couldn’t plan your way out of a fucking paper bag—”

The blow makes him see stars, and he crashes to the ground with an involuntary cry, snapping a hand up to cover the gash that’s already starting to bleed. Fuck, he _hates_ being pistol-whipped. His head is spinning, and he tries to scramble up only to have a booted foot kick him in the chest and knock him flat on his back.

“There are seven other hostages in here,” the robber says, and he’s wearing a ski mask but there's a vicious grin in his voice as he leans over Obito. “Killing you gets you the fuck out of my hair and shows the cops I'm serious. Win-win.”

Obito watches the barrel come up, stares into hard brown eyes that don’t contain even a hint of hesitation, and—

A hand catches the gun, even as a massive fist comes flying at the gunman’s face. There's a crack of impact, and the man goes flying, his gun still in the attacker’s hand. The second gunman, formerly covering the other hostages, shouts and spins, but before he can shoot the leather-clad superhero lunges. The flat of his massive sword sends the second robber sprawling, and Beast plants a foot in his back, grabs his wrists, and ties them quickly.

Still flat on his back, Obito closes his eye to the sound of the police streaming into the bank and wonders when the hell this became a normal day for him.

“Hey, you okay?” that deep voice asks, and Obito reluctantly lets his eye slide open, looking up into the masked face leaning over him. Domino mask, rather than a ski mask, which he always appreciates—Beast has killer cheekbones—but…maybe more right now than normal.

“I’m fine,” he manages, and gets an elbow under himself, pushing up with a groan. “You have the _best_ timing.”

Beast chuckles, and it manages to sound _bashful_. A guy well over six feet shouldn’t be able to _do that_. “You get into a lot of trouble, don’t you?” he asks.

Given that this is the third time this month that they’ve run into each other, Obito can't even argue. He gives the hero a wry smile, and when he offers a hand, Obito slides his own into it, allowing himself maybe three seconds to appreciate the size of it, the gentleness of Beast’s grip despite his strength, before he’s on his feet and has to let go. He staggers the first step as his head spins a little, and in an instant Beast has an arm around his waist.

“Paramedics are outside,” he says reassuringly. “Let’s get you checked out.”

Obito wants to tell him he doesn’t need the coddling, but he feels dizzy and his head is throbbing, and it’s easier just to let Beast half-carry him out the door of the bank.

 

The bruises from the bank incident are only _just_ starting to fade the next time it happens.

To be entirely fair, Obito _is_ chasing a story this time—he got a tip from a waiter he knows that Koharu Utatane, right hand to the city’s biggest mob boss, has been frequenting a club near the docks. Obito might not be conventionally attractive, thanks to his scars, but he knows he wears a suit well—one of the perils of growing up with a mostly-classy supervillain for a legal guardian. It’s easy enough to look the part of Root’s usual clientele, and Shin sneaks him in the back door with the liquor delivery.

Waking up tied to a chair in a flooding room was _not_ part of the plan.

Obito curses, struggling with the cuffs. Of _course_ they couldn’t just use zip ties or rope, both of which he can get out of in under twenty second. Cuffs are harder, especially when his hands are tied behind his back and Obito can't reach the lock picks in his sock. Madara taught him a hell of a lot, back when he was aiming for Obito to become his second-in-command, and he runs through his options even as he scoots the chair back towards the far wall, away from the water that’s creeping up the inclined floor. He’s probably near the harbor, he thinks, detached and assessing. Either that or they’re just rerouting water into the cell—from the looks of the moss on the walls this isn’t the first time they’ve done it.

Great. Obito is stuck in the mob’s murder-room, handcuffed to a chair, _and_ his only nice suit is now a lost cause.

“I,” he tells the empty room as he twists his hands to feel how much give the cuffs have, “am going to write the _biggest fucking expos_ _é_ on the fucking mob.” There's enough space, he judges, if only just, and he grits his teeth and presses his hand against the back of the chair. It’s an awkward angle to get a good grip on his thumb, but he manages. “The whole fucking city is going to know that you have a fucking _murder room_ and that you ruined my _last nice suit_!”

A hard twist, a wrench, and Obito snarls with pain as his thumb dislocates with a dull crack. His next breath in shakes, but Obito forces himself to keep moving. He slips his hand out of the cuff, then brings his arms forward, cradling his left hand to his chest as he digs the lockpicks out of his sock with his good hand. The pain is low-level and throbbing, but ignorable, and Obito gets the cuffs around his ankles open with one and a half hands and a sense of vicious accomplishment.

Of course, that still leaves him in a room where the water is already ankle-deep and rising.

“Fuck,” Obito snarls, splashing back to lean against the wall, where the water thankfully is only halfway to the tops of his shoes. It must be knee-deep by the door, given the angle of the floor, and Obito glares at the heavy metal blocking the way out. No hinges or locks on the inside, nothing to pick, and if he’s going to _drown_ he’d rather do it at the beach on a nice sunny day, thanks.

Of course, no one is listening to the prayers of one mildly distressed investigative journalist, so instead of a rescue, he gets the creak and splash of the door opening. Three henchmen in waders are standing there, and in any other circumstances Obito might laugh, but right now the gun aimed at his head and the body between them are both a little more concerning.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” he demands, taking one step forward. The henchman with the gun immediately flicks the safety off, though, and Obito stops, glaring at them. Henchman two and three step forward just enough to have Beast’s still body into the room, then drag the door shut, and Obito curses and hurries forward, grabbing the big man and pulling him up so that he’s at least not floating face-down anymore. There are a pair a tranquilizer darts still embedded in his shoulder, and Obito pulls them out as gently as he can, tossing them to the side as he hauls Beast back towards the higher part of the floor. No other injuries that Obito can see, though he’s not surprised about that; he’s seen Beast get thrown through a brick wall and laugh it off like it was a mosquito bite.

Tranqing the man was probably the only way to stop him, Obito thinks, reluctantly amused. Maybe this isn’t how he pictured help coming, but, well. At least he’s not alone.

With a sigh, he sinks down to sit next to Beast, leaning against the wall. The water is still rising steadily, and Obito's hand aches, but he tips his head back against the wall and closes his eye. For a moment he debates whether Kakashi will notice him missing—they were supposed to get breakfast together—but there's not a hell of a lot one detective can do against the mob, especially the mob run by Danzō Shimura. And even if there _is_ something Kakashi can do, he won't be able to find Obito before it’s too late.

There's a quiet groan against his shoulder that makes Obito lift his head, and he watches Beast stir. The hero freezes immediately, wary tension in every line of his body, but Obito can't help himself. He reaches out, touching the man’s knee lightly, and asks, “Are you okay? I think they gave you enough tranquilizer to knock out a grizzly bear.”

Beast raises his head quickly, turning to look around the room and then over at Obito, and Obito smiles crookedly and holds up the hand that still has a cuff dangling from it. “Hi. Apparently we’re cellmates.”

For a moment Beast blinks at him. Then he laughs, sounding entirely amused. “Seems like you must be a pretty big threat, if they decided to treat us the same,” he jokes.

“Everyone hates reporters,” Obito laments, and gets a deep chuckle for it.

With a groan, Beast heaves himself to his feet, looking around the room. He’s not carrying his sword, though Obito supposes someone would have to be _exceptionally_ dumb to let him keep it while he was a prisoner, and the leather vest he normally wears is missing, too. He’s got more muscles than Obito thinks he’s ever seen on one person before, but they're not the showy strength of a bodybuilder; Beast looks like he uses every ounce of his strength, and gained if the hard way.

Between that and the cheekbones, it’s really no surprise at all how often Beast ends up on the cover of magazines, even if he’s never actually posed for a photo in his life.

Stomping down the urge to just keep staring, Obito gets up, too, steadying himself against the wall as his dress shoes slide. Beast is studying the cell, expression growing grimmer by the second, and he reaches out and thumps a fist against the concrete around them, head tipped as he listens.

“That has to be at least two feet thick,” he says. “Not something I can punch through.”

Obito grimaces, because he was expecting that but it’s still frustrating to hear. Casting a look of his own around the cell, he asks, “The door?”

“Steel,” Beast says apologetically.

Well, that’s predictable. Strangling a sigh, Obito tips his head back, trying to ease some of the tension from his shoulders, and—

Stops.

“How tall are you?” he asks, eye fixed on the grate in the ceiling.

Beast looks at him, the follows his gaze, and grins. “This is probably a twelve foot ceiling,” he says, sounding much more cheerful. “If I lift you, you should be able to reach.”

Obito has to swallow, has to very determinedly not look at Beast’s biceps, because he’s not exactly a small man but Beast is treating the idea of picking Obito up and holding him over his head like someone else would the thought of moving a dumbbell.

“I think I can see a padlock,” he tells Beast, and fumbles for his picks, tucking them between his teeth.

“You're pretty handy in a pinch, aren’t you?” Beast chuckles, even as he crouches down, lacing his hands together into a stirrup. “Must be all that practice getting into trouble.”

Obito rolls his eye, flipping the man off with his good hand, and puts his foot in Beast’s hands.

“Ready?” Beast warns, and Obito barely has time to brace himself before Beast is heaving him up.

Obito muffles a yelp, gets first one foot, then the other on Beast’s broad shoulder, and grabs the grate to steady himself, suddenly _much_ further from the ground than is entirely comfortable. Beast’s hands are wrapped around his calf and thigh, anchoring him, and Obito has to take a steadying breath. Gripping the rusted metal bars with the fingers of his bad hand, he gets ahold of his picks, then asks, “Good?”

Beast chuckles, tipping his head back to grin up at Obito. “You're light,” he promises. “I can hardly even tell you're there.”

Obito really, really hopes Beast can't see the way he’s blushing in the dark room. It’s been a long time since he had a date, and longer since he had sex, and that’s probably a decent portion of why his mind is immediately tumbling into the gutter at the thought of Beast’s sheer strength. The other portion would be that Beast is _gorgeous_ and also not an asshole, and while Obito is usually chronically and regrettably attracted to assholes, Beast makes for a refreshing change of pace.

Cursing at himself—silently, because he doesn’t need Beast to think he’s any more of a freak than the hero likely already does—Obito determinedly turns away, focusing on the lock. The grate is large, definitely large enough for both of them to fit through, and a morbid little voice in the back of Obito's head tells him that this is probably how the mob gets the bodies back out once they’ve drowned. Still, they probably don’t usually drown people two at a time, an that’s enough of an advantage right now. Obito slides his hand through the bars, gets a hold of the padlock, and gets to work.

Beast doesn’t so much as _shift_. For all the world it’s like Obito isn’t even there, and that is—that is far, far more appealing than it has any right to be.

Finally, the lock clicks open, and Obito makes a quiet sound of victory, yanking the lock off and tossing it away. The grate is a little more of a problem, rusty and heavy, but he manages to jar it loose and then flip it up enough that it falls open with a clang.

“Hey,” Beast says, and carefully lets go of Obito's legs to cup his hands above his head. “Can you pull yourself out if you have some extra height?”

Anyone else and Obito would call them an idiot for thinking they could support a hundred and fifty pounds of journalist like that, especially braced over their heads. But—Beast hasn’t had a problem so far. Swallowing, he carefully steps up, judging the distance, then grips the edges of the grill as hard as he dares and jumps.

It _hurts_. His hand screams at him, and Obito almost loses his grip. He has to put all of his weight on one hand as he hauls himself up, and as soon as he’s clear he rolls to the side, clutching it to his chest with a wince. Behind him, there's a splash, and a moment later hands grab the edges of the opening. Beast swings himself up and through without any seeming effort, then rises and looks around, glancing through the lone window.

“We’re by the docks,” he says with some surprise.

Obito snorts, because he knows _exactly_ where they are now that he can see their surroundings. “We’re in the storage shed behind Root,” he says dryly, tipping his head at the cases. “That’s the wine order they just got today.”

Beast’s grin is all teeth. “Guess that’s proof the club’s just a cover.” He reaches down, getting a hand under Obito's elbow, and gently helps him stand. “You need a doctor. Did they—?”

Before he can finish, there's a thump, a creak. The door of the shed flies open, and the beam of a flashlight hits Obito square in the face. He yelps, ducking his head, and a voice demands, “ _Obito_?”

“Kakashi,” Obito says, with every ounce of relief that crashes through him. He takes a stumbling step forward, and Kakashi immediately grabs him, pulling him into a crushingly tight hug. With a shaky breath, Obito leans into him, breathing in Kakashi’s smell as his best friend clings to him, and manages to get out, “ _Fuck_ , I'm glad to see you. How did you know?”

Kakashi curls his fingers into his hair, kisses him lightly on the temple. His grip is just this side of painful, but Obito is well aware that Kakashi doesn’t deal well with the thought of losing people close to him, especially with the history the two of them share. Kakashi had thought Obito was dead for way too long to be able to deal with those thoughts now. “Your informant saw them grab you and called the police,” he says. “You're such an idiot, I should arrest you for reckless endangerment of _yourself_.”

“That would never hold up in a court of law,” Obito informs him, pulling back, and Kakashi lets him go, if reluctantly. “Besides, we got out, didn’t we? Beast was there, nothing happened.”

When he turns back around, though, Beast doesn’t look as relaxed as he normally does. He’s eyeing Obito with an expression Obito can't quite make out, but when Obito blinks at him, he grins. It’s not all that convincing compared to his expressions in the cell, and Obito is entirely bewildered. But—Kakashi is clearly a cop, even if he is a plainclothes detective. Maybe Beast doesn’t care for the police, given his job as a vigilante.

“Like I said, you're pretty handy,” he says, though it’s lacking his usual cheer. “You should get that hand checked out.”

“Hand?” Kakashi immediately latches on to the words, turning Obito back towards him and lifting his arm. “This is dislocated. Obito—”

“It’s the best way to get out of handcuffs!” Obito protests, but Kakashi is already very firmly steering him out of the shed, towards where police lights are sending streaks of color dancing across the walls of the alley.

Obito has just enough time to glance back before a paramedic grabs him, but Beast is already gone, and the shed is empty.

 

If Obito never had to see Madara’s smug fucking face ever again, it would be too fucking soon.

“Now, now,” Madara says, mockingly sweet, as he hauls Obito up the stairs towards the roof of the building. “The fact that you managed to hide from me for so long is impressive, Obito, but don’t you think it’s time to take your rightful place in the family?”

“I don’t want to be part of your fucking family!” Obito snarls, but Madara is a hell of a lot stronger than a baseline human and no matter how much Obito wrenches at the hand around his arm, Madara doesn’t budge. “Izuna came back from the dead, didn’t he? You don’t need me anymore!”

Madara huffs. “Is that what this is all about?” he asks, and his tone is _disappointed_. “If you wanted my attention, Obito, you didn’t need to act out to this extent. You might as well be my son—I love you and Izuna equally.”

Obito kind of wants to gag. “That’s _not what happened_ ,” he protests. “I'm not _acting out_ , I fucking hate you! You're a _supervillain_!”

“An entrepreneur,” Madara corrects. “One with _vision_.”

“A vision of world domination,” Obito spits. “I'd rather die than help you with that, bastard.”

Madara drags him over to the very edge of the skyscraper, letting the wind whirl up past them. Obito has to control the urge to recoil, because while the combination of Madara and heights doesn’t bring up as many bad memories as Madara and caves might, it’s still not a fun association. Madara's training was brutal, and Obito will forever be surprised that he actually managed to survive it.

“Look at that,” Madara says, and there's that familiar mad glint in his eye, the one Obito was so glad to escape when Kakashi finally found him again. “A whole city full of worms, crawling about in the dirt. They _need_ us, Obito. They need us to save them from this fate. We’re the hawks, the ones who can see what needs to be done.”

Obito debates trying to kick Madara's kneecap out and topple them both over the edge, but Madara's survived worse, and if Obito has to die he wants to make _sure_ he’s taking the bastard out with him, _permanently_. “You’re insane,” he snarls. “You're not a hawk, you're a madman who thinks he can rule the world. I don’t want any fucking part of that.”

Madara clucks his tongue, like a disappointed parent. “Obito, what happened to you? You were so loyal to the cause before. And now you spend all your time pretending to be one of those helpless peasants. It’s shameful, don’t you think?”

“The only _shameful_ part is that I ever bought into your lies,” Obito snaps.

There's a laugh from right behind him, hard and cold, and an arm curls around his shoulders. Izuna pulls him back from the edge, right into his side, and leans on him like they're old friends. “So this is the nephew you were telling me about?” he asks, and that smile is chilling. Obito has always _known_ that Izuna is the more merciless one, that between the brothers Izuna was the first to become a supervillain, but he’s spent so long scared of Madara that it’s a shock to remember he should be just as scared of Izuna.

With a hum of confirmation, Madara reaches out, ruffling Obito's hair like he’s still a child. “As cunning and vicious as any parent could ever hope for,” he says, and at one time Obito would have _gloried_ in the praise, but now it just makes his stomach turn.

“You're going to have to kill me,” he says, and it’s the world’s biggest surprise that his voice doesn’t shake. “Whatever you want from me, it’s never going to happen. As soon as I get loose, I'm going to tell every hero in the city where you are and what you’re planning.”

Izuna snorts, like it’s a joke. “You're adorable,” he says, condescending enough to make rage ripple through Obito's chest. “But you should feel proud. We stole Kagami's eye _just for you_.”

Obito's heart sinks, and nausea twists through him. He knows Kagami, of only from his time as a reporter. He’s a hero, distantly related to Madara, and even though he rarely uses it he can brainwash people with as little as a look, turn them into whatever he wants them to be in a way that no one has ever managed to undo. And if Madara and Izuna plan to use that same power on Obito—

There's no way this can possible end well.

He lunges sideways, slamming an elbow into Izuna's ribs with enough force to make him grunt. As the man staggers back, grip loosening, Obito takes advantage  to dive forward. There's no escape—the building is full of Madara's fanatically devoted followers, and there are seventy floors of them to fight through before Obito can even get to the street. But he was telling Madara the absolute truth when he said he’d rather die than help him, and the edge of the building is so close there's no possible way for Madara to grab him in time. He hits the edge, doesn’t even pause as he hurls himself over, and hears Madara's snarl of rage right behind him. Fingers slip off the hem of his coat, and then Obito is falling, twisting, the wind shrieking past his ears. This is it for him, he has time to think. He’s going to kill himself but at least Madara won't get what he wants—

He collides with a hard chest, the impact enough to knock every last bit of air from his lungs. Someone grunts, but they're still moving, tumbling forward into a roll, and an instant later they hit another rooftop, skidding across cement. A fall like that should have been enough to kill someone—the closest building is at least five stories down, Obito knows, and there's an entire street between it and one with a clear shot to it, but—

Able to crash through a brick wall and come out without so much as a scratch, Obito thinks, dizzy with relief as Beast skids to a stop, arms still wrapped tightly around Obito. He lets out a shuddering breath, heart pounding in his throat, and slumps into the hero’s grasp. It’s no surprise at all that he’s shaking with adrenaline, but he can't _stop_ and it feels humiliating.

“Hey, hey,” Beast says soothingly, and a big hand slides through his hair, cupping the back of his skull. “You’re okay, you're safe—”

Except they're _not_ , because Madara is one rooftop over with Izuna, and that’s nothing at all for the two of them. Obito struggles to push himself up, already bracing for cold laughter and a cruel, mocking façade of kindness. “No, Madara—we have to go, he’s _right there_ —”

Beast chuckles, viciously amused, and says, “I think Madara's got bigger things to worry about right now.”

Bewildered, Obito turns as much as he can, looking back at the other building, and catches sight of long, billowing dark hair and deep green leather, a slimmer form wearing icy blue, and a third figure in black and red, a white bandage wrapped around his head but a sword still in his hand.

“Kagami,” Obito says in relief, because when Izuna said they stole his eye he was _sure_ the other man was dead. And with the city’s two strongest heroes to back him up, even Madara and Izuna are going to have trouble.

Grinning, Beast rises, carefully setting Obito down on the low wall that edges the roof’s ducting. “Seems like there's some history here,” he says lightly, leaning over Obito to gently grasp his bindings. There's a sharp snap as the wire gives way, and Obito groans in relief, bringing his arms forward to rub his wrists. Madara knows _exactly_ how to tie him up so that he can't escape, and he’s had his hands bound since Madara grabbed him off the street two days ago.

“Family reunions suck _balls_ ,” he says with feeling, and it makes Beast laugh. Seeing the big man look him over, Obito musters up a smile and adds, “I’m fine. He wanted to get me to join him, so his goons only roughed me up a little before he got there.”

Beast makes a quietly unhappy sound, reaching out to touch the bruise on Obito's cheek. Then he drops his eyes with something that looks like a grimace, pulling his hand away. “Let’s get you down from here,” he says with a lightness that doesn’t quite match his expression. “I bet your boyfriend is worried.”

Obito blinks. “Boyfriend,” he repeats blankly, because he’s _absolutely certain_ he hasn’t had one of those in at _least_ two years. If he did, Beast probably wouldn’t end up starring in most of his personal fantasies the way he has since the first time he saved Obito's life.

(Kakashi _really_ hasn’t fucking helped. His first suggestion was that Obito thank Beast with dinner, and since Obito refused he’s escalated to suggesting blowjobs. Obito will never, _ever_ tell the bastard he’s actually considered it.)

In front of him, Beast has gone very, very still, and his eyes are wide behind his mask. “That—the detective,” he says tentatively, and his mask doesn’t go far enough down to hide the color that’s rising in his cheeks.

“ _Kakashi_?” Obito demands, and doesn’t know whether to be amused of offended. “I— _dating_? With _Kakashi_? Oh my god, do I look like my taste is that bad? Really?”

The smile that spreads across Beast’s face has a few too many teeth, but it’s also as brilliant as a sunrise, full of something that looks like relief. “You're not dating anyone?” he asks hopefully, and Obito is clever enough that he doesn’t need any more hints than that. He reaches out, sliding his arms round Beast’s neck, and practically falls into the kiss as Beast gets his hands on Obito’s hips and pulls him up and in. His mouth it hot, and those big arms wrap around him, and Obito is absolutely, on hundred percent certain that he could die right now and he’d still go out with a smile on his face.

A sharp nip of teeth against his lip makes him groan, and he opens his mouth, lets Beast deepen the kiss, gentling it, slowing it. Beast’s hand curl around his thighs, tugging him closer, and Obito is practically sitting in his lap, surrounded by him, overwhelmed, and it’s perfect.

“Fuck, you're _amazing_ ,” Obito breathes, right against his mouth. “Beast—”

“Kisame,” he corrects, hitching Obito up, and the smooth shift of the muscles under his hands makes Obito groan just as much as the sudden pressure against particularly sensitive places.

“Kisame,” he repeats agreeably, and then gasps the name on a breath as Kisame's hands slide up, curling over his ass. Kisame's chest hitches at that, and he kisses Obito against, deeper and harder, and Obito is more than happy to stay here for the rest of his _life._

Except then the stairwell door is opening, and a familiar voice calls his name over the hum of machinery. Kisame's hands tighten, just a little, and he makes a displeased, almost possessive sound, but in about fifteen seconds Obito's best friend is going to walk in on him practically grinding on the hero who saved his life. With a groan, he breaks the kiss and drops his head on Kisame's shoulder.

Kisame chuckles, faintly breathless, and his arms shift to places that are slightly more socially acceptable. Then he’s pushing to his feet without bothering to set Obito down, and _fuck_ , Obito had never thought getting carried like a princess could be anything but an invitation for mockery, but Kisame doing it makes him feel safe, cared for. He curls into Kisame's chest as the hero calls, “Over here. I have him.”

“You really, really do,” Obito tells him, and feels Kisame's arms curl around him just a little more tightly.

At that moment, Kakashi rounds the corner, gun in hand and expression grimly determined. As soon as he sees Obito, though, his expression slides into relief, and he quickly crosses the space between them, pressing his fingers to Obito's throat.

“I'm _fine_ , Bakashi,” Obito tells him, exasperated. “Why the hell are you taking my pulse, there's nothing wrong with me!”

“There is so much wrong with you that there aren’t enough terms in a psychology textbook,” Kakashi tells him, but it sounds cheerful enough, and he lets his hand drop without comment. “And that’s not even accounting for whatever you probably inherited.”

“We’re _distantly_ related,” Obito reminds him grumpily. “ _Distantly_ , okay? No branches of my family tree connect to Madara directly. I dodged that bullet, thank fuck.”

“And several others as well, judging by the past few days.” Kakashi nods to Kisame, holstering his gun, and adds, “Thank you for saving him. Again. At this point I feel like I should just give you the tracker frequency.”

Kisame looks from Obito to Kakashi and back again. “Tracker,” he repeats with mild disbelief.

“I fucking _hate you_ ,” Obito says crankily to his friend. “They found it and then they broke my phone, okay? _You_ get to buy me a new one, bastard, since that was your stupid idea.”

“I've saved you from three kidnappings because of that tracker,” Kakashi reminds him, and beams at Kisame. “I’ll let you know as soon as I install a new one on his phone. Or maybe we should go subdural this time around.”

Obito rolls his eye. “What, so Madara can have fun cutting it out from under my skin next time?” he demands.

He isn’t expecting Kakashi to lose about four shades of color from his face as soon as he says it, or for Kisame's grip to tighten as he hauls Obito up against his chest more firmly. “There's not going to be a next time,” Kisame tells him, like he’s daring the world to prove him wrong.

Kakashi pauses, studying them for a moment, and then smiles. “I think I like you,” he tells Kisame lightly. “You can have the manual, if you're going to be sticking around.”

“Bakashi, _no_!” Obito squawks, and grabs for the bastard, only to have Kisame refuse to let him go. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ , I should have burned that stupid notebook—”

“Manual?” Kisame asks, bemused.

“ _The Care and Keeping of Obito Uchiha_ ,” Kakashi says cheerfully, because he’s an _asshole_. “I wrote it myself.”

“I hate you,” Obito groans, and gives up, burying his face in Kisame's shoulder.

Kisame chuckles in his ear, low and warm, and his fingers gently stroke Obito's short hair. “Come on,” he says, starting towards the stairs. “I’ll take you to my place until Madara's dealt with.”

Over his shoulder, Obito can just see Kakashi mouth _thank him with oral_ , and aggressively flips off his stupid friend. Kakashi just beams at him, and Kisame laughs.

“Thanks for the catch,” Obito says, because idiot or not Kakashi is right in thinking Kisame deserves his gratitude for doing it.

“A pretty good catch, I think,” Kisame tells him cheerfully, and squeezes Obito gently, so there's no doubt about the double meaning.

Obito grins into his shoulder. Just this once, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t mind being rescued.


End file.
